On The River
by SummerLove16
Summary: The American and Russian  Soviet  armies met on the River Elbe in 1945. One was a disillusioned Red Army Captain, the other a blue eyed angel from the Deep South with haunting secrets hidden in his eyes. JasperXEdward.
1. Stalingrad

This story is based on historical fact, set during WWII. The meeting between the Russian and American armies on the River Elbe really did happen, on April 26th, 1945. The Battle of Stalingrad has the bloodiest legacy in history, with almost 2 million German and Russian casualties during the five month battle.

The characters, of course, belong to Stephanie Meyer.

Read, Review, and let me know what you think! Reviews make me update. (:

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EPOV

The water glittered in the waning afternoon light as we pushed forward on the riverbank, jostling for a position to see our allies for the first time against the background of the town, hollowed out by weeks of bombing. As their trucks and tanks rolled down the road, clouds of dust rising in the air, their soldiers began flinging themselves into the water, swimming towards us, their uniforms weighed down by the water.

"Allies! Comrades!"

"Friends!"

The first slippery, frozen hand gripped mine, and I pulled the man out of the water onto the riverbank beside us. It was the first time I had ever seen an American, although not the first time I had ever heard English spoken. He gripped me in a bone crushing hug, patting my cheek with his icy fingers. I shyed away, certain he could feel my ribs, protruding through my uniform, pressing against his own full muscles.

"We've got them beat! Look at this, the Allies meet in Germany!"  
>He crowed, pushing deeper into the crowd of Russian soldiers that surrounded me. More soldiers clamoured out of the water, pushing against us, hugging, touching, laughing and celebrating. Someone pulled out a flask of vodka, and we drank together. In the rushing water of the river, I saw the bodies of the dead.<p>

_Stalingrad, 1942_

_ The wind, constant now, whipped through my jacket, snatching the breath from my lungs as I hunched lower beneath the pile of bricks and sheet metal. The rubble of the city that once stood majestic here, overlooking the swift turquoise current of the Volga. Now the city was a wasteland, destroyed by enemy hands, and we had been cut off from supplies until the Volga froze over. Stalin had been asking for a second front for moths—the Americans' were yet to respond. I stared at the men around me, each one shivering violently as each gust of wind rocked through our tiny party._

_ "Cigarette, Captain?"_

_One of the young privates asked, offering. His words were thick laced with accent. He had not been in Stalingrad long. One of the other soldiers spoke before I could answer,_

_ "It's too close to sunset. You'll get us all killed."_

_The German snipers had been operating in this area for weeks, the cherry ember of a cigarette more than enough to give us away in the fading shadows. We had gotten lucky, making it this far with no casualties. Our reconnaissance mission involved cutting communication wires that had been planted in the German sector just outside of No Man's Land. The silence that had followed us all day was unexpected and eerie. _

_The young private shoved his cigarettes deep into the pocket of his jacket, pulling the wool tighter around him. As the next gust of wind, whispering promises of snow, bit into my flesh, my stomach twisted with hunger. I couldn't remember the last time I hadn't been hungry. _

_ "Here, sir."_

_The private pressed a square of bread into my hand. I shook my head, trying to pass it back to him, but he curled my hands around it._

_ "Please, sir. My father told me you'd look out for us. Keep us safe."_

_I felt my stomach churn at his words. If we were lucky, half of us would return alive. I silently swore that I would look into having him transferred if we made it back alive. He was too young, too beautiful, to die out here. There was still light, still hope in his eyes. I hoped that the Commisar would allow me to call in a favour for his transfer to the Intelligence Sector. In the meantime, I would do everything in my power to keep him safe. I felt the tug of empathy for his father—a man I had never met—deep inside my chest._

_ As darkness descended over our party I nodded, giving the signal for us to keep moving. The young private who had given me the bread looked at me with wide, trusting blue eyes as he stepped in line in front of me. Our progress was slow. The wind howled bitterly, the first flakes of the coming storm whipping around us. What little snow had melted during the day was now frozen in slick patches of ice. _

_ "Captain."_

_The private at the front of the line gestured into the inky night that had fallen. The red cherry of a cigarette was clearly visible, not more than 400 yards in front of us. I paused to consider. Was it a soldier? A sniper? Did he know we were coming? _

_ "Keep going."_

_I murmured, my breath stolen off my lips by the wind. No sniper would shoot into the darkness, and any soldier with any experience would be wise enough to do the same. The flash of a gun in the night was a suicidal gesture of bravado. _

_The silence of the night was deafening. To our right, one of the few factories that remained intact loomed, caught in the crossfire of the inky night and the echoing pop of gunfire from other parts of this city. Although it looked empty, it held more haunted souls and living dead soldiers than anywhere else in the city. The factories, room by room, floor by floor, were the worst part of this fighting. The factories were worth dying for. The soldiers who fought for them rarely came out. _

_Next to the factory, the railroad tracks ran diagonally, lined with the wires we were supposed to cut. I wondered if the cigarette was a sign of a waiting ambush. It didn't really matter. We had no choice but to keep moving. The lines needed to be cut, and if we were caught in the crosshairs of a sniper in the early morning light, we would be picked off like ants by a far away, invisible killer. I blew into my hands, trying desperately to warm them. The piles of bricks closed in around us as we neared the railroad tracks. The private turned, seemingly to ask me something, as the soldier in front of him stumbled on the frozen ground. _

_ The explosion was instant. The landmine, triggered by his weight, detonated instantaneously. The shadows of the factories danced. Brick dust and snow, previously heavy against the ground, drifted slowly downwards to settle in the tingling, disconcerting warmth of the soldier's blood as in rained across our skin. The private screamed. As I looked through the half-second of light cast by the deafening explosion, I saw two German soldiers, one holding his gun, the other holding a lit cigarette. _

_ The private screamed and screamed, and didn't stop, his voice harsh and echoing across the barren, empty space of No Man's Land. His screams were chilling, otherworldly and dying. Enough to wake the dead._

_ "Jesus, shut him up!"_

_One of the other soldiers snarled. I felt along the private's jacket, feeling the gush of warm blood against my palm as I discovered multiple pieces of shrapnel from the landmine buried in his flesh. _

_ "P-p-please, s-sir...don't l-leave m-m-me."_

_The private looked at me, the pupils of his eyes dialated so that the blue was hardly showing. He gripped my hand imploringly, his blood slick against my skin._

"_I'm not going anywhere. We're going to get you to the hospital. You're going to be okay."_

_I lied. He was going to die, I could feel that as surely as the rush of his blood against my jacket as I lifted him into my arms, cradling him against my chest. He barely weighed anything at all, as if his bones had been hollowed out by the fatalities of this war. The rest of my men followed me, without question, as I led them out of No Man's Land, and through the twisting roads of the Russian sector towards the hospital. _

_ The hospital was part tent, part hollowed out factory, on the very edge of the Volga. The dead lay in frozen piles along the wall outside, waiting for spring to come so that they could be buried. There was flickering light coming from inside, and each breath seemed to be lit with moans of pain and suffering. The doctor shook his head as I stepped through the door with the young private, sweat glistening on his face in the dim light, his blood already soaked through my jacket._

_ "He's not going to make it."_

_The doctor murmured, ushering me towards the door. _

_ "No. You need to help him. Please."_

_The doctor shook his head, his eyes tired. _

"_There is nothing I can do for him. He's too far gone. Place him outside with the rest of the dead."_

_A nurse stepped towards me, placing one hand gently against my arm,_

_ "What's his name, soldier?"_

_In that moment, I realized I didn't even know the name of the trusting, blue eyed private who had been killed on my watch. _

As the last soldiers clamoured out of the water, we exchanged dollars for rubles, vodka for whiskey and conversation in broken English and Russian. The Americans were excited, offering their hands for us to shake. I simply felt exhausted. I saw the horror of years of battle in my comrades' eyes. In the eyes of the American soldiers, I saw simplicity. Peace.

"You got vodka?"

Halting, broken Russian, tinged by an American accent I had come to associate with the deep South in movies.

"Yes. Here."

I handed my flask over my shoulder without looking, answering in my own broken English. The American didn't leave, however, instead he dropped down next to me, leaning back against the wall where I was sitting to avoid the commotion. He offered his hand to me, and when I turned to offer mine in return, I suddenly found myself staring into the same haunting blue eyes of the private I had allowed to die on my watch.


	2. I Ain't Nobody's Hero

Hi kids, sorry it's been SO long on this story...I suppose I had major writer's block. But here we go again...

Normandy=D-Day, the Allied invasion onto the coast of France in June, 1944.

This time we're in Jasper's POV, which is all deep South, American boy. I've tried to write in his accent, let me know how that reads!

...

I ain't nobody's hero.

I never wanted to go to war.

My brother—my strong, capable older brother—wanted to go.

He wanted to fight for freedom. He understood the things that were happenin' thousands of miles away, across the deep green ocean, and he wanted to stop them. He was the hero.

And then Pearl Harbour.

December 7th, 1941.

Left my mother without her son. Left Rosalie Hale, the most beautiful girl in our small, southern town, four months pregnant with a diamond ring on her left hand and the knowledge that her husband was never comin' home.

Grief is a funny thing. My father fell into the bottle, unable to claw his way out. My mother sat on our front porch in her rockin' chair, rockin', always rockin', starin' into space. And me? I took up my brother's fight. I thought I could be a hero. But I was wrong. This Godforesaken land will never stop hungerin' for blood, and I lost more here than I will ever be able to get back. Now, climbin' out of the icy waters of the River Elbe, I finally saw the battle fatigue, the fear and disillusion, I saw in my eyes mirrored in the eyes of our Soviet allies.

_Omaha Beach, Normandy, June 6__th__, 1944_

_ "Ya'll got a light, Jas?"_

_Riley smiled sheepishly at me, cuppin' his hands around his cigarette. The early mornin' air was chilled as it came up off the water, fog creepin' around our ankles and into my bones. God, how I missed the south. When I—we—got home, I was never leavin' again. _

_ "Here."_

_I flicked the rest of my pack of matches at him. He grinned like I had handed him solid gold, lighting up and inhaling deeply. As he did so, Jacob leaned forward, vomitin' his breakfast all over the bottom of the boat._

_ "Sweet Jesus, Jake, a little warnin' woulda been nice!"_

_Riley snarled, scramblin' to get away from him, his accent more pronounced under duress. I sighed, wrappin' one arm around Jake's middle and helpin' him to the edge of the boat. Jacob grinned weakly at me, his brown eyes sparkling, his baby face showing his gratitude,_

_ "Thanks."_

_I shook my head, settlin' next to Riley, kickin' him in the shins as he glared at Jake, who continued to puke whatever was left in his stomach into the pitching sea. _

_ "He's just a kid, Rile. Let it go."_

_Why they had chosen to feed us a huge, greasy breakfast before sendin' us out here onto the ocean was beyond me. The channel was rough for this time of year—Jake wasn't the only one getting sick. Riley leaned his head against my shoulder, breathin' smoke out of the corner of his mouth, offerin' me his cigarette. I shook my head, pushin' his hand away. My stomach was beginnin' to feel queasy and I feared I might soon be joinin' Jake. Not that it mattered—I had grown up with these boys, they were my brothers._

_ "Where's your head at, kid?"  
>Riley grinned at me, usin' the term of endearment that he knew pissed me off—he was only a year older than me, grew up on the farm just the same. The nickname took me right back to the cornfield, where we'd shared our first kiss. At sixteen years old, it was sweet, illicit and forbidden, and wrought with an innocence I now wished I could get back. I shrugged,<em>

_ "Just thinkin' 'bout home. How Mama's doin'. The strawberries are comin' ripe, I bet she's servin' pie to the farm boys. How Daddy's doin'."_

_Riley shook his head,_

_ "Awe, Jas, you gotta stop thinkin' 'bout that. 'Specially now. We're goin' into battle."_

_And there's a chance we won't be going home._

_His words remained unsaid. They didn't need to be._

_Riley sensed where my thoughts had gone, and leaned into me, pressin' his lips against my ear so that no one else could hear him,_

_ "Beautiful, when we get home...we're gonna find a way to make this work, even if we have to buy some giant piece of property or somethin'. I love you. Don't ever forget that."_

_Jake turned to look at us, his eyes glitterin',_

_ "The beach."_

_From the fog, the beachhead we were supposed to capture loomed, the guns already firin' from the Nazis. _

_The boat ground to a halt, and we rushed forward, pushed into the sea by the thrum of bodies comin' from behind us. The beach was a gentle slope, stark cliffs on either side, and in the early morning light, it would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been for the hail of bullets rainin' down on us. I could hear voices callin' out in German, in English, some angry, some terrified, and some already screamin' for their mothers, because this many bullets had to hit somebody._

_ The beach was more fortified than they'd thought, no doubt. That's what I was thinkin' when Jacob gripped my arm with bone crushin' strength, almost pullin' me down onto the beach with him. _

_ "Shit, Jas, shit, I'm hit!"_

_His voice was strained, but I barely had time to process it before Riley fell to his knees on the other side of me, blood welling through his uniform,_

_ "Fuck, Jas!"_

_Jacob. The boy who'd tagged along with Rile and I for as long as I could remember. The boy who'd grown up in front of me. Riley. My best friend, my brother, the man I couldn't live without. The one who'd stepped up and offered to marry Rosalie after my brother had been killed, even though it was me he loved. The one who had promised me the world before we arrived in this hell._

_ "Rile, it's okay. I'm gonna get you help."_

_I looked up the beach, at the wall of guns and Nazis, knowin' there was no way I'd be able to carry him off the sand. Riley shook his head, blood staining his lips a bright cherry red,_

_ "Take Jake, Jas. He's just a kid. Just a fuckin' kid."_

_Before we'd left, Jacob's mother had gripped Riley in a tight hug, whisperin' in his ear so Jake wouldn't hear:_

_ "Please bring my baby, back, Riley. He's the only one I've got."_

_Who was Riley to refuse a woman, let alone Jacob's mother?_

_Riley turned to one side, coughin' blood onto the sand. It pooled, mixin' with water, and I realized we'd barely even touched the sand. Jacob stared up at me, frozen, his eyes wide, and I knew Riley was right. I had to help him, I had to honour the promise Riley had made to his mother—hell, he wasn't even old enough to be here, he'd just come along with Rile and I when we'd signed up and somehow managed to convince them he was eighteen._

_ "Jake, I'm gonna help you, okay?"_

_I bent low over Riley, tears blurring my vision,_

_ "I'll be back for you, okay? I'm gonna get him help, and then I'll be back for you."_

_ "Wait, Jas. If I don't...just, tell my Mama I love her, okay?"_

_I shook my head, swallowin' hard around the lump in my throat,_

_ "Do not say that, Riley James. I'll be right back. You'll be fine. I'll see you soon."_

_I pressed a kiss onto his forehead, against his sweaty hair, wishin' like heck that I coulda kissed him on his cherry-stained lips, and sent a silent prayer to God for him. Then I picked Jake up, carried him towards the cliffs, hopin' to at least bring him outta the line of fire. Jake was unconscious by the time I found a medic, his head lollin' against my arms, burnin' from the strain of carryin' him._

_ "Please, help him."_

_The medic grimaced, feelin' through Jake's uniform. I turned, intendin' to head back for Riley, but the medic gripped my arm,_

_ "They're making their way up through those trees over there, son. I'd suggest you follow them."_

_ "I...I can't, sir. My best friend..."_

_ "He's gone, son. The tide's comin' in."_

_I ripped my arm out of the medic's grip, running across the beach for Riley. _

_The medic had been right. _

_The tide had come in, and Riley's body floated face-down, blood swirling in the water beneath the bullet laden sky. A strangled, inhuman cry ripped its way from my chest, time seeming to freeze amid the screams and shots around me. _

Three best friends left our town in 1943.

Only one remained among the living by 1945.

But like I said, I ain't nobody's hero.

I wandered aimlessly among the soldiers, embracing despite our wet clothes, their eyes sparkling and bright with excitement. It was a rare moment of peace and silence from the near-deafening bombs that fell from overhead. This war must be almost over, the blood soaked land swollen with the blood of the dead. What I couldn't bring myself to imagine was going home. The thought made my heart ache—facing Riley's parents, Jake's mother, my own family, and knowing that I had failed...

"You got vodka?"  
>I questioned the closest Russian soldier in what little, broken Russian I knew—presumably he would, wasn't that part of being Russian?<p>

"Yes. Here."

He answered in English, tinged with a thick Russian accent from where he was sitting, slumped against the wall of a hollowed, bomb-shattered building. Avoiding the commotion. I could do that. I sat next to him, offering my hand.

When he looked at me, shocked recognition flared in the mossy green of his eyes, shadows passing over his expression faster than I could interpret, and I knew he was seeing the eyes of the dead in my face.

"Jasper."

My voice seemed to startle him out of his shock, and he ran one hand through his already tangled red-gold hair,

"Edward."

His voice sounded like gravel, and I surprised even myself with the haunted smile that crossed my lips.

I hadn't smiled since the ocean stole my breath away along with Riley's life on that fateful mornin'.

...

Next Chapter will get on with the story! Tell me what you think. Reviews make me update!


	3. Strawberries

Hi Everybody...

We're back with Edward.

Chapters will continue to flash back (because I think this is important—and, as some reviewers have suggested, I just love love LOVE history...so it makes me happy to write it.), but they will also advance the Jasper-Edward plot.

Let me know what you think!

... ...

EPOV

Drowning.

I was drowning, trapped in the darkness of my memories and the suffocating blue of his eyes, the air knocked from my lungs with the assault of emotions. He offered his hand, and I took it automatically.

What I didn't expect was the flare of warmth his palm caused as his hand touched mine.

A haunted smile ghosted across his lips, and I knew he had lost just as much as I had in this war.

"Jasper."

His voice startled me from my reverie, my words grinding across gravel as I voiced my own name,

"Edward."

His smile broadened, shock blossoming in the depths of his eyes, and I wondered how long it had been since he'd laughed.

I paused before I spoke again, trying to work the hundreds of questions I longed to pour over him into English,

"Tell me...where is the place you are from?"

My English was thick with accent, and I could feel my cheeks light with shame. His smile faded, shadows dancing in the depths of his eyes as he considered my question. I hoped it wasn't the wrong one. After all, what place could possibly be worse than the blood swollen land of Europe and this war?

"I was born in Austin...that's in Texas, in the South. This time of year, the strawberries are just comin' ripe...you guys have strawberries in Russia?"

I looked at him, bewildered. He shrugged,

"They're red, like little hearts growin' down among the weeds. Delicious. What I wouldn't give for a strawberry...anyways. My brother...this was his war. But...Pearl Harbour and all...he was one of the boys on the boats."

_And so you took his place in this. _For reasons I couldn't quite be certain of, I filed his statement about the strange berries away in my mind—it wasn't like I would ever see this Southern angel again. He smiled wanly at me,

"Where're you from?"

I sighed,

"Arkhangelsk."

I didn't say more, didn't attempt to explain the devastation wrought on our city as the Allies arrived to support the Whites in the Civil War, bringing with them the flu that stalked the already broken population. Already undernourished and weak, my mother passed in the blink of an eye—ill at breakfast, and dead by dinner, so the saying went about the Spanish flu. But how did one put that into words?

Jasper nodded,

"That's Archangel, right? The port?"

I nodded. He knew it, of course, the Allies had been funnelling supplies in through the city for months. I wondered how much he knew of Soviet history.

"Does it snow much?"

His question, so innocent, brought laughter to my lips, a sound so foreign it was almost shocking.

"Yes. It is as cold there as anywhere...the sea freezes in the winter."  
>I was unsure of how to explain the unforgiving cold to him, and afraid to ruin the innocence lighting his eyes. He nodded, his cheeks stained with pink,<p>

"I've never seen the snow."

_Ah've nevah seen the snow. _Almost wistful, as though he wished we could trade places. But I would not wish the things I've seen in this war on anyone, let alone the soldier sitting next to me, his blue eyes bringing me back into the depths of Stalingrad.

"Do you want to walk?"  
>His soft accent washed over me, bringing me back to the present, back to the commotion around us.<p>

We rose silently, melting into the crowd of celebrating soldiers.

The walking dead.

We walked in silence, the sunlight warming us from above. The further from the crowds we got, the quieter it became, and I realized just how long it had been since I had experienced real silence.

"Do you miss Archangel?"

Jasper murmured quietly, his eyes on the ground. I took a moment to study him, his high cheekbones and slightly too-long golden curls—he couldn't have been much older than nineteen.

"No."

My answer was quiet, but definitive. It was hard to miss a place when there was nothing left to miss.

"But you miss Texas?"  
>The unfamiliar name of his home sounded gritty, accented as it fell off my tongue. He nodded,<p>

"This war has taken everything away from me."

Somehow I got the feeling he didn't mean his brother. Jasper bit his lip, his words barely above a whisper,

"Have you...have you ever loved another man?"

His eyes snapped to mine, filled with desperation, but I wasn't sure what he needed from me.

... ... ...

Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry it's so short—I felt like the next part needed to be in Jasper's POV.


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